


this is not heaven (but it's close)

by elliptical



Category: Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them (Movies)
Genre: Credence Barebone Gets a Hug, Credence Barebone Needs a Hug, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Past Abuse, Slow Burn, Trauma
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-08-31
Updated: 2018-11-29
Packaged: 2018-12-22 02:29:19
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,154
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11957838
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/elliptical/pseuds/elliptical
Summary: A wizard on a boat finds a presumed-dead Obscurial in his suitcase.The presumed-dead Obscurial has a lot on his plate, from seasickness to the inability to control his murder urges.  It's just kind of unfortunate that he's lost all control of his monster right after finding someone he desperately wants to keep safe.Newt wants to help Credence, but he doesn't know where to start.  Credence just wants to rest.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [muchlessvermillion](https://archiveofourown.org/users/muchlessvermillion/gifts).



> i can't sleep and it's my girlfriend's birthday so clearly staying up late writing fanfiction was a great idea even tho i have work soon  
> HAPPY BIRTHDAY RAFI

When Credence came to, he was sprawled in the middle of a field.

His first thought was not, _I have floated into a wizard’s case and am now a stowaway in his bizarrely expanded luggage._ Nor was it, _I have killed everything I love and hate and now there is nothing worthwhile left in the world._ His first thought was infinitely more pleasant, a sensation more than anything coherent - uncomplicated happiness at the warmth of the ground beneath his body, the light against his closed eyelids. His second thought was, _I’ve died and gone to Heaven._

His third thought, almost simultaneous, was remembering that he was never going to heaven. If the magic hadn’t damned him, the killing spree must have, even though he hadn’t realized what he was doing until that last moment and he’d reached out for help and the one person he’d thought might save him had struck him instead -

And then he’d let the power go on purpose. That had damned him for sure.

So either he was in hell or he hadn’t died at all. The former seemed most likely. It was reasonable that hell would be pleasant at first. When you knew what pleasantness felt like, the sting of pain was more potent, easier to flinch from. It was the same principle that called for pauses between the smacks of a belt.

His fingers curled with remembered pain. His eyes opened. The sky was a deeper blue than he’d ever seen over New York City, a stark contrast to the gray clouds and smog. It hurt his eyes, so he closed them again.

Probably it was best not to move, so he didn’t.

The wizard found him there, laying frozen in the grass. He had not made much of an effort to make himself comfortable, or really breathe properly, so he looked more like a corpse than a living being. That was all right with him - at least for once his outsides matched the insides - but it seemed to concern the wizard, who said his name in a calm tone, and then repeated it in a far more worried one.

Credence did not want to get up. He couldn’t remember ever sleeping as long as he wanted to; Ma would have him up before sunrise doing chores, and hell befall him if he overslept, and there were never enough hours in the day for him to rest when he needed it. He always got up. Summoned the energy from somewhere in his chest, pushed his aching body through the motions even as his joints creaked like unoiled gears.

But all of that had been before Mr. Graves had betrayed him (or had it been the other way around? Maybe he’d deserved it the whole time and just couldn’t untangle the threads). It had been before he realized that the force keeping him moving through the days was something separate from him, but part of him, a monster breathing in his skin. It had been before he dissolved completely and tore everything in his path to shreds, ripped his mother open, left his sister dead in the rubble. It had been before the wizards with their wands had shot searing light at him and he’d screamed, and screamed, and screamed -

Credence did not want to get up.

He opened his eyes again. The monster, less chaotic than usual, curled up inside his chest. It wrapped around his limbs, settled under his tongue. _Go on and see what he wants,_ the monster said in its little nudging language. _Once he goes away you can rest again._

‘Goes away’ in the monster’s voice was laden with double meanings. Gentle as it was now, Credence was aware of the ferocious roar simmering just beneath the surface. It did not want Credence hurt. It did not want to be hurt. It would do whatever was needed to protect them both.

“Credence,” said the wizard, and here was the relief, _look, he lives, he breathes._

Credence remembered him. That was the miracle. In the grayness of day to day life he didn’t remember faces, kept his head down and tried not to hear or see anything. But he remembered this face, this voice. He remembered a damp subway station and terror and pain and clawing for freedom and fighting and fighting and fighting and -

And the man had been gentle, and soft, and kind, and Credence had thought _maybe there is a chance_ , and Mr. Graves -

_tell him about how you killed the last Obscurial you met, Scamander_

The monster woke - not a violent pain like dissolving, but like his limbs had fallen asleep and he couldn’t quite remember how to move them. The monster pushed against the cage of his ribs and beat against the inside of his skin and pressed his vocal cords into silence. It held its fingers over Credence’s mouth and hissed _hurting us, going to hurt us, take care of it, let me take care of it, let me fix it,_ and Credence let out a muffled whine.

“Are you hurt?” the wizard asked, and he was very clearly in Credence’s line of sight, close enough to make out the flecks of yellow in his reddish hair and the smattering of freckles over his nose. His eyes were almost the same blue as the searing sky. The monster strained to take him apart.

_take him apart and this place is ours and we’ll be safe, safe, no one will ever touch us and if they do we’ll bury them let me out let me break_

“I think,” Credence whispered, amazed that he could will any breath into words, “you should step back.”

To his credit, the wizard did not hesitate before moving back a few paces. Credence wanted to turn his head, but his spine was not cooperating. The vertebrae felt like they’d been fused together. His jaw twitched, his fingers curling painfully in a way they weren't meant to. He tried to focus on the grass beneath his palms, dirt under his nails, anything to keep the monster at bay, but the shadow sat on his chest and stroked his cheek and stole whatever attention he had left.

“Are you hurt?” the wizard asked again, very softly, the same tone he’d used to say _can I come over there, Credence?_

_tell him how you killed the last Obscurial you met_

“I think I am going to kill you,” Credence whispered, and the monster tore up his throat and through his head, and the grass scorched under his hands, and then he couldn’t remember anything.

When he came back again, the pieces that made him _Credence_ assembling into something that half-resembled a body, he was pinned under filaments of shining white light. They shimmered, looking like they ought to burn even though their weight had no heat. Credence thought, again, that he must have died. Then he struggled to see past the white light and made out the blurred shape of a ceiling, the rough texture of wood beneath his arms.

It was strange, the light, the living weight of it. It felt immobilizing, restraining, but then Credence pushed himself onto his elbows and discovered he had no trouble moving at all. The light moved with him. His body still hurt in a bone-bright, searing way, but that was nothing new, really.

He was in a small house, stairs leading to an unknown second floor, bottles and papers haphazardly strewn across the counters. It looked like a workshop, though how anyone could find anything in here was beyond him, and his visual exploration was interrupted when the wizard spoke.

“I’m sorry - is it hurting you? I didn’t think it would, but I didn’t have very much chance to come up with something on short notice-”

So Credence hadn’t killed him. He searched his thoughts and found uncertain relief, then realized it was uncertain because he couldn’t hear the monster at all. He turned his head toward the wizard’s voice, found him sitting on the bottom step of the staircase, disheveled but not obviously injured.

Credence pressed a hand to his chest, fingers splayed, inches from the space the monster was usually strongest. “You took it out of me?”

“Is - is it gone?” the wizard asked, blinking with obvious surprise. “Or just… dormant?”

Credence had absolutely no idea how to tell. “What is this?”

“I used - it’s called a Patronus charm, it’s traditionally used to repel creatures called dementors. They tend to pull the happiness out of people. I don’t know that anyone’s ever researched the effects of a Patronus on an Obscurial, but I thought it probably wouldn’t hurt you - in theory it would force you to manifest in human form, but it wouldn’t cause any lasting damage, as Patronus charms are made of goodwill and have no real ability to cause malice or pain to people, but I didn’t - as I said, I didn’t have a lot of time. If it hurts, I’ll think of something else, I’ve no intention of causing you pain. And now I’ve been talking while you might be in pain, damn it, do you - do you need me to pull the charm back, or -” The wizard trailed off, maybe finally aware that half of what he was saying was gibberish to Credence.

Credence hesitated. The light still didn’t hurt, but the absence was - wrong. It was like standing up only to find you had no balance, the world pitching unevenly around you.

“I don’t think my monster will like it,” he said finally. “But it doesn’t hurt.”

“Your Obscurus,” the wizard said. “Are you - are you in contact with it, then? Do you communicate?”

What he was really asking was whether Credence was responsible for the destruction the monster had wrought, and Credence did not have an answer for him. He knew he was going to hell, but he wasn’t sure how other people would see it. How this particular wizard would see it.

“I don’t know how wizard law works,” he said instead. “Do you need a confession to kill me, or - or are there others who see it through, or-”

“Kill you?” The wizard, for his part, sounded genuinely horrified. There wasn't any reason Credence could think of to fake horror; it wasn't like he was fighting the sentence.

“I just don’t know the - the details - of how it works.”

“I am not - Credence -”

He pressed onward, reckless. What was there to lose, anyway? He’d already torn everything apart; there was nothing now except to face the consequences. “Mr. Graves said you killed the last one you met. Was he wrong?”

A very, very long pause. “No. He wasn’t wrong. But it was not - it was not intentional. I swear to you on my life, Credence, I was trying to save her.”

“I think that you’ll need to kill me,” Credence said. He felt remarkably calm, maybe because of the shimmering white charm, or maybe because the wizards had torn something vital out of him on the subway platform. “When my monster wakes back up, I don’t think I’ll be able to keep it from… hurting you. Keep me from hurting you. I don’t know how.”

“Hmm.” Another pause. “I’m not certain how you came to be in here. Truth be told, I thought you’d been killed. I think for you to have found your way here in Obscurus form, you or the Obscurus must have known this was a safe place. Maybe both of you did. I cannot promise that I’ll be able to fix everything that’s wrong, but I can promise that I will never intentionally harm you. And I will give you sanctuary. I won’t let anyone find you unless you want to be found.”

This did not seem like a very practical sentiment to Credence, especially considering he’d never gotten something for nothing in his life. The wizard would want something in return. Everyone had hidden motives; if there was one thing he ought to remember, it was that.

“I don’t remember how I got in here. In this workshop, I mean. I remember being outside, and then here, but I don’t remember any of the… betweens.”

“You shifted,” the wizard said. “It wouldn’t surprise me if your memories are less linear in your other form.”

“My monster form.”

“Obscurus form.”

Credence couldn’t think of anything to say to that. As far as he was concerned, putting a fancy name on the monster didn’t make it less of a monster, but he wasn’t very good at being contradictory.

The wizard was the one to break the silence. “My name is Newt,” he said. “Newt Scamander, but just Newt is fine. We met very briefly before, but I’m not sure whether you remember.”

Credence remembered. “You were kind to me.”

“I - I was only doing what any decent human being ought to have done,” the wizard said, obviously flustered. “The fact that decent human beings are hard to come by is hardly anything that matters-”

“You were kind to me,” Credence said, “and Mr. Graves hurt you.”

The wizard was speaking faster now, words tripping over each other. “That whole story was actually a bit more complicated than anyone gives it credit for. Turns out there was a lot of stolen identity and Dark wizardry nonsense going on behind the scenes - nothing I’d like to personally be involved in, I’d rather leave that for law enforcement, at least when law enforcement knows how to do their jobs rather than be backwards brutal pieces of - but that’s hardly the point here, the point is - I forget what point I was going to make - I’m sorry, I’ll tell you the story if you’d like to hear it, but obviously I’m fine now. No harm done.”

“I think I tried to hurt you. Between the field and the workshop.”

“Unsuccessfully, though,” Newt said with a great deal more cheerfulness than Credence felt the situation warranted. “Trust me, I’ve come far closer to death on at least a dozen occasions that I can think of now, and probably more I can’t think of. Speaking of which” - he paused, and a flower of apprehension bloomed in Credence’s chest - “do you want to meet my creatures?”


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> complications

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 1 year later i still love my girlfriend and crewt
> 
> i can't guarantee that this will have a regular update schedule, but the new movie made me need some crewt in my life. comments will probably encourage faster updates because i crave that sweet sweet external validation ;)

Admittedly, bringing up the idea of meeting the creatures with an, “It’s all right, they’ve tried to kill me multiple times but I’m not dead yet,” might not have been the best way to pique Credence’s interest. However, if Newt wanted to hurt him, Credence was sure he could have managed it already. Too aware of the capacity for pain, remembering how Mr. Graves had tortured Newt in the train station, and all Newt had done was try to _help_ \--

That was the kind of train of thought that usually made the monster stir, but the shimmering white cloak of light was still keeping it silent. Credence felt a pang of something that he couldn’t identify. Grief, maybe, but that didn’t make any sense. Loss?

Why he would _miss_ the monster was beyond him.

“I would like to meet ones who aren’t dangerous,” he said finally.

“Technically none of them are dangerous, so long as you treat them with care. Just be respectful of their space and listen to what I say. Their communication methods can sometimes be different from ours, which can lead to… miscommunications. But really, humans are more dangerous to them than they are to humans.”

Credence considered this for a long moment. “All right,” he said. “I would like to meet the ones who _haven’t tried to kill you before._ ”

The corners of Newt’s mouth twitched like he was trying to avoid smiling. “That seems reasonable. There’ll be plenty of time to meet the others. I don’t want to do anything to discomfort you.”

The intention was to introduce Credence to the inhabitants sharing the space with him, but that wasn’t quite how things happened. Pickett the bowtruckle he only glimpsed for an instant before he vanished out of sight. “They’re very shy, bowtruckles,” Newt explained, “but harmless. You mustn’t be offended. A few of the creatures saw you shift earlier, and they’re a little skittish. They’ll warm up to you quick enough, though.”

Credence paused, a small pang of hurt hitting his chest. Not offense, not really - it was impossible to be offended by anything being frightened of him. The creatures were just acting with normal protective instincts. “I don’t want to scare them.”

“You won’t,” Newt assured him. “The Patronus still seems to be working -- can you still not feel the Obscurus? Hear it? However you communicate?”

“It’s still gone,” he said. “But if your creatures…” He halted, thinking through how he wanted to phrase the sentiment. It wasn’t self-hatred prodding him so much as an aching empathy. He knew what it was like to be frightened of being hurt, and he wouldn’t wish that on anything.

“If I scare them,” he said eventually, each word carefully chosen and enunciated, “I shouldn’t be around them.”

When he looked at Newt, anxious about the lack of response, he found the wizard studying him with a small furrow between his brows. Newt’s eyes slid away as soon as Credence met them, like he couldn’t stand the contact. “I’m not sure that’s true, actually,” Newt said.

Credence curled his fingers a little, wanting to draw his hands into fists. The monster, he was sure, would have something to say about this. “I’ll hurt them.” And it wasn’t the creatures he was thinking about then, but Modesty, Modesty cringing terrified in the rubble of their home, more frightened of him than she’d ever been of Ma -

“Credence,” Newt said, gentle and imploring. “Do you intend to hurt any of the creatures?”

“No,” he said immediately, “but that doesn’t mean I won’t --”

“Credence, every creature here knows I won’t do anything to harm them. If I was worried you’d do them harm, I’d keep you away from them. I want to show them that you’re a safe person to be around, so they won’t be frightened of you anymore.”

Credence pressed his mouth into a thin line. “I’m not a safe person to be around, though.”

“I disagree.”

“Mr. Scamander -- Newt. I’m sorry. I don’t mean to be obstinate. But could I meet them a little later?”

Newt only hesitated for a moment before responding. “Of course. I don’t want to make you uncomfortable. You’re probably starving, anyway. Why don’t you come see the boat?”

Credence blinked. “Boat?”

-

It turned out that the shed, the field, and the other habitats were inside a suitcase. Credence marveled at the brilliance for about fifteen seconds, until the swaying motion of the boat made him feel like he was going to throw up. Then he headed back into the case to avoid the nausea, allowing Newt to bring him a small portion of food from the mess.

He practically inhaled the meal, not having realized just how ravenous he was. The boat’s rocking motion didn’t disturb the placid environment inside the suitcase, so the seasickness didn’t threaten him in the little shed.

Newt laid a very gentle hand on his arm. Credence tried not to be obvious about what a relief the contact was. It felt like it had been such a long time since he’d been treated gently. “First time traveling by sea?” Newt guessed.

“First time out of New York,” Credence said.

Newt hummed quietly. “And you get seasick the moment you poke your head out. I’m sorry. It’s not the best first travel story. I can make you up a room in here, though, and I think you’ll like London. The ground doesn’t sway, which I find to be one of the city’s best qualities.”

Credence nodded.

Newt said something else, but it was drowned by a tinny ringing starting in Credence’s ears. He was abruptly dizzy, a different dizziness from the seasickness. The world tilted around him like they were still on the boat. Nausea rose in him, along with a dark dread that dripped like oil. He pressed a hand to his chest, outlining the curve of his ribcage, faintly surprised to feel the _thud thud thud_ of his heart. It seemed so empty.

“Mr. Scamander,” Credence said, taking a harsh breath. Only by looking at the wizard’s face could he catch the shape of the correction, ‘Newt.’

“Newt,” he tried again, “I don’t feel well.”

Newt’s eyes widened in clear alarm, and he drew his wand, but Credence couldn’t hear what he said. Clammy sickness turned his limbs to jelly, darkened the corners of his vision, and he’d lost consciousness before he even felt his head hit the ground.

-

The monster was there again when he gasped to awareness, his back arching. Less than a weight on his chest, it was twined through his limbs like a shadowed skin, helping him drag in grateful gulps of air. He felt like he’d been suffocating and only now did he realize how sweet the air tasted.

“Oh, thank goodness,” a voice near him murmured, fervent. “Thank goodness. Credence, can you hear me?”

He turned his head toward the sound, unsurprised to find Newt sitting there, freckles standing out starkly on pale skin.

“Am I hurt?” Credence murmured. His lips felt cracked and dry.

The room they were in was paneled with wood, Newt sitting on a chair drawn up by the door. Credence was laying on a bed, the softest mattress he’d ever felt in his life, but the absence of a shifting floor made it pretty clear they were still in the case.

Newt was still pale. The worry in his face made Credence think something must be terribly wrong. Even in the train station, Newt had been nothing but gentle and kind. Anything with the capacity to frighten Newt must be horrible, and Credence was suddenly struck by the gut-sick terror that the monster had torn through Newt’s creatures.

“I don’t know if you’re hurt,” Newt said, “but you’re awake, which I’m taking as a very good sign. God. _God._ I thought I…” He paused, and then added with unnatural brightness, “But clearly I didn’t, so everything’s fine! No sense worrying.”

Credence had heard Newt’s actual cheerfulness, and it was nothing like this manic, badly suppressed terror. “I hurt your creatures?” he whispered.

“What?” Newt stared at him with utter confusion. “Oh, no - _no,_ no. No, Credence, you haven’t done anything wrong, I promise. I swear. It’s all right.”

“Then why… does your face look like that?”

“What? What’s wrong with my face?”

“What scared you?”

Newt flinched slightly, closing his eyes. He pinched the bridge of his nose like he was staving off a headache. When he spoke, his voice was steady save the tiniest strained tremor. “An Obscurus can’t survive for long without its host. We know very little about them, save that they have unbelievable destructive capabilities. I think today has definitively proved that an Obscurial can’t survive for long without their Obscurus, either.” He let out a shaky breath. “I thought I’d killed you. The Patronus - it’ll work as a temporary measure, but not permanently, as I’d hoped. Separating you from the Obscurus seemed to cut off a vital part of you.”

The monster purred with satisfaction. Credence sat up, pressed his palm to his chest, which now felt less like a hollowed-out wound. “You can’t…” He put the words together slowly, finding them far more alarming than the initial collapse had been. “You can’t fix me?”

“‘Fixing’ you would imply you were broken in the first place, which I don’t believe.” Newt scrubbed a hand through his hair, making it stick up in all directions. “I don’t think I can separate you from the Obscurus, though. I’ll need to do some research, formulate theories on how to -” A frustrated breath. “I - Truthfully, I’m not sure where to begin. I’m so sorry, Credence. I’ll start work on it tonight. Maybe if you tell me more about how you and the Obscurus interact, I can form a better understanding of the relationship. Find a way to turn it symbiotic rather than parasitic.”

Credence stopped watching Newt in favor of studying the ceiling instead. “You can’t fix me.”

“I’ll be damned if I can’t help you. I just need to figure out how.”

“It would be safer,” Credence said, struggling to get the words out with the irritable monster locking his jaw, “if you killed me.”

“Well.” Newt sighed. “It just so happens that I’m fundamentally opposed to that course of action.”

Credence bit his tongue. Fighting the monster, still wrestling for control. “I think,” he said, “I’m going to die anyway.”

Newt was quiet for long enough that Credence flicked an apprehensive glance at his face. He didn’t find the anger or pain he was expecting - just a grim determination.

“Not,” Newt said, “if I have anything to say about it.”


End file.
